


Memorising the Spaces Between Our Souls

by stardivarius



Category: Fifth Harmony (Band), X Factor (US) RPF
Genre: AU, F/F, Fluff, Gen, One-Shot, this is so gay omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:43:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardivarius/pseuds/stardivarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camila likes remembering things with Lauren. Memories of her favourite person make her feel like the hole she has in her soul might just go away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memorising the Spaces Between Our Souls

**Author's Note:**

> (Based on this slightly cheesy post that I wrote a while ago about someone that’s important to me.) http://bemio.tumblr.com/post/48033198808)

Remember how we’d talk? How our conversations would last literally hours that Ally and Dinah and Normani would throw pillows and clean socks – anything they could get their hands on really – at us to get us to shut up so they could sleep but you’d always just give them this one, well-timed death glare, and that they’d just curl further underneath their blankets, even though it was pitch black and they could hardly see you? Then the next day, clearer and like you had dark, shimmery pools of precious, emerald green gems instead of eyes – so different from right now, where you’re sort of blushing, and your pupils are dilated, but somehow, unfocussed at the same time –, you’d tell them sincerely that you were sorry for “being an ass” and then proceeded to make us all breakfast; they’d immediately hug and kiss you saying that “we understand” and give us this annoyingly knowing smile, smirk and walk off as if they knew some huge, controversial secret that we didn’t.

 

Remember that time you got so homesick that you cried? You were so embarrassed about not being able to keep the tears from seeping out of those now watery blue orbs and made me promise not to tell the other girls because you were ashamed. I always wondered whether perfect people ever broke. “I never cry” you told me; I didn’t believe that for one second, and I know you knew that I didn’t. I was sure that the other girls would be nothing but understanding and compassionate because _they know_ how it feels to be away from home for so long, but for some reason you’d only let me see your tears. I didn’t understand why I was the only one allowed this ‘honour’. I was strangely grateful. _It was weird being the one allowed in_. There were the beautiful happy tears that flooded your bright, green orbs when you called your parents about finally hearing us on the radio, and the ashamed, anguished sobs that overtook your much darker eyes when you were particularly upset about not being fair to a fan or something other. Your crying literally made my heart ache, and it would be this tiny, dull pain right in the centre of my chest as I inhaled, when there was nothing I could do but let your tears soak into my sweatshirt or jeans, and gently run my hands through your gorgeous, dark hair, whispering soothing nonsense into your ears, hoping it’d calm you just a little bit. I thought I wouldn’t be able to stand watching such a beautiful person cry. Those eyes of yours turned blue or grey or some other mix of rain and ice that I didn’t know could be so heartbreakingly beautiful yet _sad_ at the same time. Usually though, your eyes are this ridiculously stunning shade of luminous green that was halfway between a dark forest green and a pale khaki colour that conveyed every single emotion so clearly to me that I could read you like sheet music. It took me a little while to learn how to when I was younger because I thought it was really difficult, but now it’s like a third language to me _. You’re my fourth._

 

Remember how we’d take really long walks together and come back to the hotel covered in all sorts of city slick, all sweaty and gross but chests heaving, cheeks flushed and wind-blown hair? I remember management having goes at us for being “irresponsible” but I knew we totally weren’t. _I had you_. One of our favourite things to do was walk into a fully packed restaurant or diner or deli and order the most rancid sounding thing on the menu and it would almost always end up tasting wonderful, despite it costing a good thirty dollars. We’d play this game where we’d take pictures of everything, with everything and on everything. We’d hysterically giggle when we walk through a random street full of strangers, fully aware that they might recognise us, but at the same time, not really caring about it. I agree, it may have been reckless of us – I sort of believe that seeing your eyes light up with that, almost, childish happiness, made the pure stupidity, totally worth it. When we arrived back at the hotel, the other girls would just exchange knowing smirks and pretend to scold us for ‘worrying’ them. Ally would give us both giant hugs and a kiss on the forehead and then another hug and then ‘sternly’ tell us to at least “write a note” or “send a text” before leaving; preferably one that had an excess of hearts and “ily’s” scattered across the message. Dinah and Normani would brush it off, and tell us that they knew it was a “one time thing” and that they would “be so in” the next time we took off without telling anyone and then all three of them would walk off, giggling like banshees.

 

Remember how we’d look at maps and you’d take out your compass and ruler and calculate the distance per metre per hour per whatever the heck else you’d fashioned into your equation – with my mild correction of course – and tell us how far we’d travelled? And looking into your eyes I _so knew_ you didn’t mean the distance. You’d show me all the landmarks whenever we crossed a border into a different state and point out all the food places, and distract me from my random bouts of severe motion sickness, by telling me stories about anything that popped into your head. Whether it was your family or your school to books and animals, you’d tell me. For a person who’s had to be strongly self-reliant and stuff for a long time, I discovered that I actually listened to you; and even memorised the look you’d get on your face when you were telling me something particularly important. Even if it was just you mentioning a favourite pair of socks you always wore to your softball games, or to the moment your grandmother passed, and left you that ring you always wear. I memorised the gentle furrow of your elegant eyebrows, and the adorable scrunching up of your nose, and the hand that runs through your hair messing up whatever our stylist has done whenever you’re thinking or daydreaming. It’s so subtle, but it’s there.

 

Remember how we’d tell each other secrets? We’d stay up late at night with the other girls, lying on our stomachs, heads propped up against our hands, legs bent at the knees, swinging carelessly to the sounds of our excited giggles that echoed off the sides of the tour bus’s tiny space, all five of us facing the empty space between our bunks, exchanging countless typical coming of age stories and prying secrets and obscure facts about one another through numerous variations of intensely interrogative games. I had never had so much fun in my life _. I actually belong_. I remember how you told me about your exes, and how you’d been dumped by every single one, and I found my heart aching for your broken one, yearning to be the one to help fix up the shattered bits and longing to love you just as hard as you loved them. It’s not hard to want to love you, you know. Your heart a little more mangled than it should, and eyebrows furrowed so often that I occasionally have to gently smooth them out like I wanted to smooth out your aching heart whenever you choked on your words. You’d take one look at me, frown a little, and with eyes shining lighter with earnest, you’d go “it’s alright, Camz. I’m ok now” and I know you’re telling the truth. _Kind of_. You still think that you might be a little broken and worn down by everything. But you’re not broken. You’re just a little worn out. Your heart and soul and mind need a little time to recuperate. Every now and then, I’d make sure to tell you that “you’re beautiful” and “special” and “one of my favourite people in the world.” _Because you are_. I still remember that small, shy smile you’d flash me every time I said it, and it made my insides turn to that macchiato froth you’re so familiar with.

 

Remember how you’d watch the stars? You’d tell me that even though they were these magnificent brilliant lights far away, they were probably already dead. It was a depressing thought really, but you told me that they were beautiful despite no longer having a “life” or whatever stars have. Told me that you needed a little darkness to see the light. It was deep, and so your way of being hopelessly, painfully, beautiful I found myself nodding and agreeing because it did make perfect sense. You told me that I was your star and I remember me pulling a face because of the whole “dead stars” thing, and you laughing, and then explaining with this dazedly blissful look on your face, “you’re my star because you shine a little brighter than the rest” and that made my heart explode. Probably with a thousand of your stupid dead stars. It was a little fitting considering that I wasn’t really ‘alive’ until I’d met you four. Don’t mumble about that “not being true” because you do so much for me. _So. Much._

 

Remember the first time we met? I was so tongue-tied and nervous that I couldn’t speak and I thought you were so calm – oh my god, _stop laughing_ – but you were just as bad; I just didn’t notice your nervous blushing or stuttering. Those clear bright, green eyes of yours shining pure with bliss and sincerity – I promise that it’s true – your lips curved upward into one of your pretty smiles, faint freckles dusting your nose and cheeks lightly. Are you remembering? _Good_. Because the smile you’re smiling right now is the same smile you gave me that day; all disbelievingly shy and endearing but at the same time, _bright_ , like your star analogy. Shame you can’t see it right now – you’re blushing, it’s sort of cute – I don’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful than right this second. It’s okay to believe me, you know. You are, sort of, maybe, one of the most stunning people I’ve ever seen _ever_.

 

Hey – hey – hey – _not yet_ – you need to hear this – remember the first time I got my eyebrows done and you were so petrified for my safety that it was you that held my hand and scolded the person assisting us? I swear I had never seen another person so scared of your glare. Normani was right about you actually having a superpower. It’s true. You’ve never seen your glare in action, I think you’d be scared too – yes, I know – but it’s really one of the other things that I don’t find scary at all, not in the least bit. Even though your emotions radiate openly through those ridiculously stunning eyes of yours, I can’t really bring myself to _be scared_ of you. Which is scary in itself. You make me feel full, I don’t know what of, but I feel lighter and heavier at the same time when I’m with you. Maybe I’m not broken after all. And you’re not either.

 

This was all sort of longwinded, and your eyes are just staring into my soul like they always do, but I want you to know something. I love you. _Shh_ , it’s my turn to talk. It sounds really silly and really sort of cliché, but, I knew I was going to love you the second we talked. I knew I never wanted to stop talking to you for the rest of my life. Our conversation flowed easily, despite being awkward at first – _you were awkward_! – but literally something that I still can’t explain. Remember Dinah and Normani and Ally’s all-knowing smirks? _You do_? Yeah, me too. And your talk about dead stars and needing the darkness to see the light? You pulled something out of me that I didn’t even know I had. You make me feel pretty and unreasonably happy and I’m _happy_ that I can’t do anything about that. You make me want to love myself when I really didn’t think there was anything worth loving. I just wanted to thank you for that.

 

It’s sort of surreal, you know? **I love you**. And even if you’re not saying it right now, I know that you love me too, because your eyes are shining with it. I want you to remember this; I know that your beautiful eyes have memorised me because I’ve memorised you, but I’ll never stop loving you even when you’re all thunderstorms and lightning and ice because I still know you when you’re all sunlight and writing on paper and _warmth_. So I’m going to kiss you, and hopefully you’re going to kiss me back, because, later I want to ask if you’ll remember this moment, and tell you how much space in my soul you’ve taken up. Because I’m pretty sure you’ve taken up a lot.

 

" **I** **love you.** "

 

 


End file.
